It's time to put a myth to rest. Henry Ford certainly claimed, in his 1922 autobiography, that he'd once told his Model T management team, "Any customer can have a car painted any color that he wants so long as it is black." However, while 80% of the fifteen million Model Ts produced during the vehicle's twenty-year run were black, three million were not. According to the most reputable possible source, Ford's own media site, "in the early and late years of Model T production, the car was produced in many different colors, including blue, red, green, and grey." (Dark blue, red, green, and grey, they add.)

As a means of competing with Ford's monochromatic ubiquity, in the early 1920s General Motors decided to play up its ability to deliver style. This was helped along by the General's development of a proprietary paint called Duco that delivered vibrant colors and dried quickly.

As cars became increasingly common, GM was also quick to recognize that consumers wanted their vehicles to communicate more about themselves than "I own a car." The "ladder of success" price hierarchy that GM developed—with stair-steps in price, style, and features as customers moved up through their five brand range—fit perfectly with the maturing market's need for individuation. In the 20s and 30s, color quickly became a signifier of automotive luxury. And while a consumer might not be able to afford the custom finishes of a sunburst yellow Duesenberg or two-toned silver and blue Rolls, a green Chevrolet with slate grey interior could help them stand out.

Color retrenched from its mass-market flamboyance in the 30s and 40s. This was based not only on economic and wartime deprivations, but also on vehicles' changing bodies. As running boards disappeared and fenders became more integrated, cars lost some of the crisp delineation that lent itself to two-tone paint jobs.

A desire to break with the dreary recent past, a craze for distinct coves and fins, new paint technologies, and perhaps even the invention of color television, all conspired to produce a dazzling range in the 50s and 60s. Candy-colored pastel hues gave cars the appearance of two-ton, aviation-inspired Easter eggs, with a like range of interior color choices that scrambled both dignity, and this metaphor.

Metallic paints came into vogue in the 1960s and 70s, as did the color gold. But the big news of the decade were the lurid hues that leached into the American automotive palate, originating in the European vehicles that were then gaining a domestic foothold. Acid greens, yellows, oranges, and purples came to dominate in sports and muscle cars. Meanwhile, in the family market, deliciously drab browns, ochres, and greens became de rigueur—the better to match earthy trends in clothing and appliances.

The 80s brought on the unfortunate ascendancy of three colors that have since dominated the vehicular landscape: white, silver, and black. We blame the massive improvements in automotive quality and longevity for this triumph of the bland. As cars began to longer, and residual values became a more relevant proposition, consumers who wished to maximize their resale opportunities did so by sticking with safe choices. This does little to explain the Teal Craze of the 1990s, but the less said about that, the better.